


D&D

by Kariachi



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemon Settling, Disabled Character, Gen, Non Consensual Daemon Touching, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), referenced child death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kariachi/pseuds/Kariachi
Summary: An old collection of daemon au short stories taking place in the universe of Under The Wings.
Kudos: 2





	1. Knowledge

Back home, whenever somebody Settled, without fail the adults would lament what the colony lacked. At the Holds and Halls and Weyrs, they would say- and most of them had been Settled when they’d become holdless, so surely they knew- had massive sets of books full of daemon shapes. That when a child Settled they would go to wherever these books were kept and they would search them to find what sort’ve creature they were. That nobody went through life not knowing. It was one of the many stories that enraptured the children, a remarkable and sensible idea, and Var could remember back when they were small- so small Settling seemed some distant joke- going off with their cousins to try to steal a set for the colony.

Uncle Seren had caught them less than a mile out, but still. It had been worth a shot and the scolding after.

There’d been a lot of Settling at the Camp. Most everybody was snatched up before they Settled and if you survived, well, that was where it was going to happen. And every time, to their own horror, it seemed everybody had the same thing to say. The same thing every. single. one. of them had heard before. ‘It’s a shame we don’t have any of those daemon books they have in the Holds.’ Which meant it _had_ to be true, because everybody’s aunts and uncles had said so.

So, as a result, it really wasn’t a surprise that on the first night at High Reaches after their rescue, when they were all mostly not terrified and the mountain was eighty percent asleep, Mom and Eryk had gathered them all up and led them (snuck them, only like four pairs moved in something other than a sneak at that point) deep into the creche, to a shelf that seemed like it should bend under the weight of the thick tomes that rested on it. Brand new after the fire that’d once taken the Weyr, they’d been taken down with the reverence of people who mostly hadn’t seen anything like them before in their lives. The vast, vast majority couldn’t read for obvious reasons, but Mom and her daemon set up shop among the crowd, settling into a chair as people picked through pages of pictures, trying to find themselves among them before waving them over to give the name and the description.

Var didn’t join in the initial rush. He and Tarav had had plenty of turns to get used to him just being a dog, nothing more special than that. It’d been the same shape since the last day they spoke, and by now they were comfortable with knowing or not knowing. Instead they took up position near the entrance with some of the other, older lot, Eryk, and their daemons. Grinning, chatting low amongst themselves, joining in on the quiet clapping at each description read out. Occasionally somebody would step up to check for themselves, but for the most part they’d all known so long, it really didn’t matter. Really.

“Var!” The call was quiet as any other, but he and his daemon both turned at his name. “We found Tarav!”

They didn’t need to know. They didn’t care. But still their feet drew them forward to kneel beside one of their sisters and her fish? maybe? She shoved the book at them long enough for them to take in the image before handing it off to Mom. The pattern matched, the drooping mouth, the long ears.

“Coonhound,” Seyrah read off, “a breed of hunting dog- athletic, friendly, loud, prone to getting into trouble.”

“That’s them alright.” Tarav whirled around the nip at ankles, almost like he meant it, while Var considered the information, tongue moving behind his teeth like he was trying to taste the words.

Coonhound.

Ignoring Tarav’s wagging tail slapping him repeatedly in the face, Var smiled at his applauding family.

Yeah. Yeah, that felt about right.


	2. Together

It wasn’t a special evening, nothing important was going on, there were no worldchanging events. There hadn’t even been Fall that day, that’s how nondescript it was. Everything was plain and ordinary, and they were just hanging out in the wher dens, chatting and playing, when it happened. A familiar feeling twisting in Sjeyn’s gut and creeping over their spine, like Impression, like

_Mine! Mine! Alatha’s Settled!_

If these weren’t the wher dens and so built to have dragonkin that dwarfed him wandering around, Tasogareth would’ve been banging his head with how he took to bouncing in place, crowded by a small horde of wherlets, children, and their daemons, his Alatha pressed flat against his head for their own safety. The rightness and joy sloughing off them was enough that Sjeyn and Missil hardly noticed the congratulations being thrown around- even Storm’s eyes whirled a bright and pleased green, his mudbeast daemon Field lowing pleasantly at his side- in favor of rushing over for a closer look.

Taso’s eyes whirled like mad in a million shades of green and blue and even flecks of purely excited red as he settled, wings still flapping and flicking but at least he wasn’t jumping around like a hatchling anymore. With a whistle Missil hopped off Sjeyn’s shoulder and onto the small blue’s head, walking a small circle around Alatha as they puffed themself up with pride.

“Oh you look lovely,” she said, tugging at a dark grey feather to match her own. They were a wherry of some sort that they would have to look up later, with a long neck and hooked beak, which somehow wasn’t very surprising at all. After all, Missil was a bird, and they’d always tried to follow after her, just as in love as the other halves of their bond.

“Don’t I just?”

_They’re perfect. Easily the best daemon in the Weyr._ Chuckling at the eternal confidence and self-esteem that radiated off the pair like body heat, Sjeyn wrapped their arms around his head and held him close, stroking Alatha’s head when prompted.

“Of course they are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sjeyn- Missil ([Jackdaw](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b1/Coloeus_monedula_-Ham_Common%2C_London_Borough_of_Richmond_upon_Thames%2C_England-8.jpg))  
> Tasogareth- Alatha (Wherry)


	3. Contact

They’re used to being touched, in the way that only those whose daemons settle in the shape of people can be. It’d never happened back home, at least not with anybody old enough to know better, but ever since they’d left… Ever since their first day at the Hall, when a Journeyman had paused in directing them to the boarded ladies’ quarters to tell Monett where her ‘beast’ could stay, complete with a slap of Cadyl’s flank, jumping back with wide eyes and hurried apologies as he felt the intense buzz that came with touching another’s daemon and realized not only what he’d done but exactly what sort’ve person he’d done it to. Since that day it had been an annoyingly common occurrence.

Humans, dragons, whers, all had the same struggle as a shape in that they tended to not register as daemons at first. Their mother’s falcon, father’s cryvex, people knew in a heartbeat for what they were. Shaped like animals, felt, in the soul if nowhere else, as people, nobody older than five ever even thought to reach for them. But when you felt like a person, and were shaped like a person, and daemons could be so small and easily hidden…

“Do you think Jaxom and Ruth had this problem,” Monett asked one quiet afternoon, tracing a finger over his filigree pattern. Green and brown over his bronze hide, their Hold painted into their very being. Cadyl just huffed, stretching in the sunlight. They’d go running later, could feel that excess energy building in their limbs.

“I think,” he said, “that they were well known enough for nobody to forget.” One even blue eye caught on her. “We’ll get there. Lady and Sir, if nothing else the titles will earn us a wide berth.” Monett laughed, splaying over his side.

“I hope so,” she said, “because let me just say, baby, the next person out of diapers to put a hand on you is ending up at the bottom of the lake.” He rumbled beneath her, pleasant and calming.

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monett- Cadyl (Wher [bronze])


	4. Risk

Technically there was nothing stopping them from staying in the Candidates’ Barracks- settled in with the people who would, fate willing, be flying alongside them one day- but Mari’s preferring to gnaw off her own limbs first. She's perfectly happy making them comfortable in the Beastcraft Hall, bunked with the other Journeymen. Mule, flit, canine, cryvex, wherry, a wide range of women of a wide range of shapes, all of a similar age and experience. They fit here like a latch on a gate, talking work and suitors and gossip. Mari sharpening knives or mending cloth (always busy, if she stays busy then she won’t be letting anyone down, so long as she _keeps working_ ) while Torc plays as best he can with the other daemons, as energetic as if he wasn’t hindered by his size.

They don’t stick out here like they do among the other candidates. There are no restrictions on candidate shapes, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a type that stands for dragons. Out at the barracks everyone is… manageable, in size and shape. There’s lots of birds, wherries, flits, and skits, and hardly anything bigger than a large canine. She has some small hope in how many are still unsettled, maybe they’ll give them some company in time, but it’s rude to wish such things on another person, to hope for some specific _type_ of shape for them. Still, it’s nice to have them, if just because of the trill of pride that shoots through them every time a young pair stares at Torc and tries his shape.

Whether any of them have seen an old Colonists’ turtle is hit-or-miss, but they can take some joy in the knowledge that none of them have seen any so massive as her precious daemon- his domed shell easily weighing more than several of their classmates put together.

Giant tortoise, that’s what the books at the Hall said, meticulous, confident, calm. But they’d known what he was from the moment they woke up that fateful morning. Heavy. Cumbersome. Slow. They’d literally woken up to their bed all but powdering underneath his weight. He was easily worth three of her, possibly more. It had been the last blow to their dreams of riding. After all, how were you supposed to strap him in? How could a dragon maintain balance, fly properly, _turn_ , when he weighed so much and couldn’t move _with_ them like the other larger daemons could?

A part of Mari still believed it, believed in how stupid this was, how much they were throwing away (how much they were _failing_ ) by even trying. But Torc was there, confident and firm, dark eyes shining as she settled on the floor of their bunk beside him, his head resting on her belly.

“What’s life worth anyway,” he said, had said, over and over- when they’d first climbed alone onto their father’s blue, when they’d run off to Keroon for schooling, when they’d given away their childhood home to serve their planet and their Weyr- “without taking risks?”

No matter what, it felt right to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mari- Torc ([Aldabra Giant Tortoise](https://a-z-animals.com/media/animals/images/470x370/aldabra_giant_tortoise5.jpg))


	5. Honesty

“Old enough to leave.” Galaxy cracked open one eye, flecks of red resting in a calm sea of orange.

 _No need leave. Stay. Guard._ Snowfall huffed, her tail flicking back and forth, fur fluffed up.

“Want leave.”

 _Want guard._ It felt like an old argument, for all they were young. That sense that there was more juxtaposed with the drive to protect their pack and home as well they could. Now that Snowfall had Settled though, everything felt that little bit more intense. The young wher hoped that feeling would settle as well as they got used to it.

“Wanted follow Rill.” More red came to his eyes at the mention of their sibling.

 _Rill small. Wanted guard._ ‘Didn’t want to leave’. The unspoken lie. Snowfall leveled a sharp look at him and resettled herself, turning away and stretching out her wings, laying one over his back. Forgiveness. He didn’t appreciate it.

“Too hot now.” _That_ gave him pause. Were daemons affected by the weather? She’d used to love thrashing about in puddles, but that meant nothing. And her fur _was_ incredibly thick… He ran his tongue over her muzzle affectionately.

_Will dig deeper den. Cooler deep down._

She merely huffed again and lay silent the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Galaxy- Snowfall (Snowclaw Panther)

**Author's Note:**

> Varalkon- Tarov ([Bluetick Coonhound](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d6/BluetickCoonhound.jpg))


End file.
